by Daniel Gibbs
“Get to cover.” He shoved Garza toward the soil blocks. They were three meters on each side, plenty good to block stun rounds. Of course, that wouldn’t prevent the drones from flying over or around.
“What are you doing?” Brant snapped. “The next branch to the right leads to a mag-tram terminal shut down for maintenance.”
“Having interference, Home.” Dwyer took a knee alongside Garza and sighted on the nearest drone. His pulse pistol flashed. Three shots sent the bot into a tumble, corkscrewing down into the field until it burrowed into a row of corn.
“The jamming won’t last forever. Tactisar’s alert is expanding. You need to get out of there soon before they cut off your route.”
“Roger, Home. Hang on.” Dwyer checked his map. He fought to concentrate as Sev’s blasts cut through the air, rattling his concentration. What blasted mag-tram terminal? Ah. There it is. Down the right-hand corridor, like the LT said. Why’d I ever doubt?
Twin explosions made him look up. Sev ducked back around a soil block as stun rounds pelted where he’d been standing. But two more of the original four drones were wreckage smeared across the deck, leaving the lone member of the flight angling higher—either for a better shot or to achieve clearer scans.
“Hey! Halt there!”
Oh, great.
Tactisar officers—three men, in their signature vests, but with additional armor strapped to their legs and arms—appeared. Helmets shielded all but their mouths, a mirrored visor obscuring their faces.
Sev pulled the triggers on both pistols, shattering last drone into smoldering plastic bits, raining debris onto their hiding place. “Problem.”
“You think?” Dwyer handed the pulse pistol to Garza. “Are you well enough to shoot back, LT?”
“I’ll manage.” Garza’s expression, while pained, was grim with determination. “For Nels.”
He got low to the deck and put warning shots into the bulkhead alongside the advancing Tactisar officers. They scattered for cover, the searing blasts from their plasma pistols slashing toward Dwyer, Sev, and Garza.
Dwyer let Sev and Garza return fire as he rummaged through his belt pouches. One small activator panel? Check. Two of my custom-made aerial explosives? Double check.
He flung them straight up. The little bots, each one the size of a man’s eye except flattened and equipped with four fluttering wings, sped over the soil block and hurtled toward the Tactisar officers—not directly at the men, Dwyer knew, but toward one of the objects near their hiding place.
Sev noticed and cracked off four shots at a water cylinder. Water knifed out in a pressurized spray, eliciting a cry from one of the officers. The drones landed above the line of punctures.
“Here goes.” Dwyer pressed the panel.
The explosion shattered the three-meter-diameter cylinder, flinging thick chunks of transparent material—along with thousands of liters of water. A wave swept two men off their feet, even as they shielded themselves from the jagged shrapnel.
It was as good a distraction as Dwyer could hope for. “Move it!”
Their breathless sprint put them at a set of sealed doors blocking the way into a darkened mag-tram tunnel. Before Dwyer could page the LT and ask him what he had planned, a tram sped into view. It jerked to a stop. The terminal doors slid halfway open.
“The override will last for twenty-five seconds, so get in and hold on,” Brant ordered. “I’ll get you as far as I can before you’ll have to change trams but only by bypassing the speed safety module.”
Dwyer didn’t feel like arguing at that point. He gestured for Garza and Sev to board the darkened tram. They’d barely slid onto the benches when the doors for the station and the tram slammed shut.
Speed safety module. I’ve ridden a handful of these things in the last few days, but how fast is their top—
The acceleration slammed them all against the seats. Sev yelped, a sound Dwyer never thought he would hear. Garza held onto the seat in front of him. Dwyer whooped. He could have been back in Novabird’s cockpit.
Kiel couldn’t make sense of the overlapping schematics. They looked to him an impenetrable mess of lines, circles, and mishmash colors. He knew he was glaring at the overlays of Bellwether corridors, mag-tram lines, and utilities.
Yahanotov, though, swiped through the images with the deft gestures of a conductor. The thin, rangy man hummed a solemn march as he went about his work.
“Can you see—”
“Wait one second,” Yahanotov interrupted.
If it’s more than that, I’ll have Ferenc shoot him when he returns—or I would if Yahanotov weren’t the expert I rely upon.
“There.” Yahanotov froze the endlessly scrolling images. “Ullrey Line, turned off last week for maintenance. It’s not supposed to be running, but a tram is on its way to Crux Terminal.”
“Get Tactisar to intercept,” Kiel demanded. “Preferably with greater skill than the idiots Ferenc sent to Noche Azul.”
“I’ve been trying. Tactisar is aware the targets are on the move, but—” Yahanotov flicked his fingers toward a comms display. “Interference.”
“From where?”
“It reads as a collapsed comms buffer but not when you examine it more closely. Someone’s jamming, or at least, making the attempt.” Yahanotov made a tsh sound. “Good attempt. It won’t last long. Tactisar’s algorithms are pretty good for civilian work.”
An interesting development. Kiel wondered if his goal of drawing out Terran spies once more had borne fruit. For the moment, he was more concerned with who had Nels’s accomplice and where they were taking him. “Trace it if you can. Let me know if it correlates with the interference we’ve been throwing onto known Terran Intelligence bands, or at least the ones where they lurk.”
“On it. What about the targets?”
“Make sure the likely hangar destinations have Tactisar officers waiting,” Kiel ordered. “And for pity’s sake, stow the plasma weapons. Live operatives are worth far more to the League than corpses.”
13
Bellwether Station—Caeli Star System
22 November 2464
* * *
Jackson found it hardest to feign interest in the heist planning when Brant kept a running update about the team’s ongoing escape.
“I lost track of them at Crux Terminal. The crowds there are thick this time of the day—a few thousand people.” Brant’s clipped tones betrayed his tension. “I’m pinging Three’s transmitter to pinpoint their location.”
To which Jackson couldn’t issue much of a response because he was still listening to Ramsey’s plan for extracting the Nosamo data from the core lab.
“This plan’s only going to work if your airlock codes are the right ones, babe.” Ramsey leaned close to Ciara so he could brush up against her and manipulate the map. “Otherwise, our boys are stuck inside.”
“Ye of little faith. Of course I’ll have them in time.” Ciara patted his cheek in a manner Jackson found patronizing. “If they don’t get out, I lose my share of the payday too.”
“If they don’t get out, everyone has bigger problems to face.” Fernand squinted at the map. “I’ll need a copy of this data for myself and the benefactor to review.”
“Sure thing.” Ramsey grinned. “As soon as you provide proof that you’ve disposed of our mutual problem in Nels’s partner.”
“I don’t recall that being part of our arrangement.”
Jackson could feel Ramsey was walking a thin line between standing up to Fernand and bowing to his wishes. For all his brave talk, Ramsey’s body language was off, and the sweat on his forehead Jackson was sure had nothing do with the stale air in the apartment.
“I’m surprised you all haven’t gone running out of here after this guy if it’s the same one Ramsey’s been complaining about.” Jackson chuckled. “He gave Tactisar a run for their money.”
“Watch your mouth,” Cho snapped. “How do you think we got the vacancy you’re filling?”
“Yeah. Not too shabby for a Ranger with a drug-dealing habit.” Ramsey shrugged. “But I have plenty of guys and gals on my payroll. Fernand knows it, which is why he’s not running out of here either.”
Fernand read a message off his comms device. “This is no time to debate who is a better pursuer. Nels’s accomplice has escaped. He and whoever is extracting him have destroyed a half dozen drones and taken out three of your vaunted officers.”
“Taken out? Shit.” Ramsey reached over and slapped Cho’s shoulder. “Give him his copy of the data. Now. We’ve got to get on this.”
“I told you. It’s being handled.” Fernand held out his hand.
Cho rubbed at his arm, frowning. He removed a duplicate chip from his pocket and gave it to Fernand. “Don’t drop it.”
Fernand stared at him as he took the chip, turned away, and headed for the apartment hatch.
“Hold up.” Ramsey maneuvered past the tablet, his head distorting the holo maps, so he could block Fernand’s exit. “What else do I need to know from the benefactor?”
“You need to know he’s watching, and so far—” Fernand held up a finger. “So far, he’s pleased that you haven’t botched this entire operation. If he has to step in himself, he’ll be disappointed, and you’ll lose your share—among other things.”
He was gone through the hatch before Ramsey could react, which Jackson saw as a good thing because the fury on Ramsey’s face indicated he wanted to hit the man, links to a wealthy and dangerous benefactor aside.
“Prick,” Ramsey snarled.
“I can tail him,” Jackson muttered. “See where he’s headed—as in, make sure he’s gonna take care of your Nels-related problem like he said he was.”
Ramsey stood like a statue, glowering at the door. He looked at Ciara, who seemed to be mulling over their options.
“Got them,” Brant hissed. “Three, Four, and the target boarded a mag-tram for Soar East Station. The destination puts them within a klick of the right hangar berth. But I can’t keep Tactisar off them. If you leave now, you can intercept and give them cover, over.”
If he left right then, he could, but Jackson knew he would lose his chance at finding out who and where the benefactor was. He signaled back, Negative, and again for Hold. Meaning, he would hold.
“Roger.” Brant’s voice dropped into an operational monotone.
Jackson would hear about it, but chain of command held, even in—or better to say, especially in—the heat of a mission that had taken a turn into the unexpected. But Jackson could ameliorate the damage if Ramsey would see things his way.
Ciara nodded.
“Do it,” Ramsey snapped.
“But be discreet,” Ciara said. “This could be an opportunity to get the upper hand in any negotiations going forward.”
“Yeah,” Ramsey added. “And if you have to arrest our pal Fernand on dubious charges so we can hold him over the benefactor’s head, I won’t complain.”
“On it.” Jackson slipped out of the hatch and into the crowd.
As soon as he was enmeshed in the herd of pedestrians, he caught a glimpse of Fernand—the back of his head then his left profile, if only for a second. Jackson triggered his comm to Ramsey on the Tactisar channel they used. “Got the target. Proceeding toward Ishii-Abed neighborhood.”
“Roger,” Ramsey replied. “Signal if you need backup. Stay off the drones’ sensors, though—the benefactor’s got hooks in most of them.”
“Confirmed. Arno out.” The moment he disconnected, he switched onto his transmitter for Brant. “Echo Home, this is Echo One. Be advised, I will not make the intercept, repeat, will not make the intercept. Shadowing new target.”
“Roger, One,” Brant said. “They’re in for a tight squeeze if you can’t get to them.”
“I know it. Send Two the update. I’ll ping her. One out.”
Fernand crossed a busy intersection, disappearing for a moment behind a long stretch of vendor stalls selling everything from exotic pets—most of which had tentacles and were no doubt illegal on Coalition worlds—to prepackaged local foods. Jackson, in a fleeting fantasy, hoped their proximity to each other was unrelated.
His transmitter pulsed for his attention. “Go for Echo One.”
“One, this is Echo Two. You’re lucky I’m not stuck in my seventeenth client meeting of the week, otherwise I’d have a hard time faking a bathroom break.”
“Did Home bring you up to speed?”
Gina sighed. “He did. I have my other outfit in my carry bag.”
“Luck again on my part?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Operational preparedness. I can make the intercept, but it’ll be tight. Leaving now. Oh, and One?”
“Yes?”
“New target had better be worth it.” Her tone lost all traces of her usual sly humor. “And we’re going to have words when I’m done. Two out.”
Jackson blew out a breath. He sped his pace, cutting through a family with four teens, before finding Fernand several dozen meters ahead. “Pretty sure we’re all going to have words,” he muttered.
CSV Tuscon
Matching Orbit of Bellwether Station
* * *
Mancini drummed his fingers on his console. If he stared any longer at another civilian ship on his display—one more freighter taking goods from point A to point B—he was going to go cross-eyed, no matter what the corpsman aboard said.
So far, they hadn’t found additional suspicious craft beyond the raider that had blown itself up rather than being captured. The spooks aboard Oxford had taken over the investigation, leaving Tuscon to resume patrol. But either their one interception had been a fluke, or word had gotten around to other raiders of a warship prowling the Caeli system, on the lookout for would-be pirates. Mancini was willing to bet the latter.
“Conn, Comms,” the communications officer called out. “Incoming encrypted transmission from Oxford, flagged your attention, Skipper.”
“Comms, run it through decrypt and pipe it to my console unless it’s flagged my eyes only.”
“Negative on the latter, sir. Coming your way.”
Captain Godat frowned at him. “Colonel Sinclair’s found something on the fringes, you think?”
“It’s possible. If he needs backup, we’ll have to make flank speed. Pass the word to all hands.”
“Aye, sir.”
The message appeared, decrypted, on Mancini’s small screen—text only. His eyebrows shot up as he read it.
“Belay that, XO,” Mancini said. “Pilot, give me flank speed to Bellwether.”
“Pilot, Conn. Flank speed.”
“Aye, Major.”
Tuscon’s deck rumbled under his boots as the engines shoved the stealth boat on a new, high-velocity course.
“Time to arrival?” Mancini asked.
“ETA twenty-two minutes, sir.”
“Bring it up a notch. TAO, populate the board—designate all Tactisar gunships within response range of Bellwether Station as Master.”
Olesen gave him a momentary surprised look but immediately replied, “Conn, TAO. Designating all Tactisar gunships. Populating the board…” His hands flew across the console. “Master One through Nine, marked, Skipper.”
“Major?” Godat slipped by the command chair. “What’s the word?”
“Unit One-Seven-One has located their target, Vector Two. Echo Three and Four are extracting, but Tactisar units are in pursuit.” Mancini made a face. “If they make it to their craft, we’re to provide cover.”
“Cover?”
“Yes, XO.” Mancini watched the nine pips Olesen had marked on the tactical board, and eye the timer as it counted down past twenty minutes. “In case the station’s security force tries to shoot them down.”
&n
bsp; Soar East wasn’t as crowded as Crux but still had enough people for Dwyer, Sev, and Garza to wind through en route to Novabird’s berth. Their masks were gone, discarded in a refuse bin as soon as they arrived.
“Security imagers in this section are on the fritz. You’re welcome.”
Dwyer didn’t like the constant edge to Lieutenant Guinto’s voice—better when the LT was laid back, because then his calm bled over into everyone else on the link.
“If more officers show up, you’ll need to drag on your gaiters.”
“Roger that,” Dwyer murmured. He’d already tossed his jacket and Sev’s into yet another bin where one meant to disintegrate and recycle trash into base elements—great way to get rid of coats wired with embedded transmitters. Dwyer didn’t want to think about how their operational budget would suffer to replace them, but at the moment, he had bigger problems.
Like the four guys standing watch at the long archway leading into the departure terminal for their hangar. The riotous colors and grating sounds of the shops, bars, and casinos beyond were the perfect interference for losing their pursuers—but the four men arrayed by the archway had to be Tactisar, too, despite wearing plain clothes. They had no visible weapons, but that didn’t mean they were unarmed.
“Trouble,” Sev growled.
Dwyer slowed their approach. He altered his trajectory so he and Sev shielded Garza from view. “Don’t get ruffled. If we take them out in plain view, we’re gonna have more trouble than we’re already in.”
“Those men… I saw one or two of them when Ramsey’s people killed Nels.” Garza’s voice rasped with what Dwyer guessed was equal parts anger and fear. “They see me, and we’re all dead.”
“Get ready to speed your approach,” Brant informed them. “Echo Two is getting into position.”
